


Just, let me (show you how I feel)

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst and Porn, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Requited Unrequited Love, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex in the Bookshop (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: It’s not just him, alone in this feeling after all these thousands of years. It’s not just Crowley, a hopeless Demon clutching a mess of hopeless feelings to his wretched heart.The night they meet again for the first time in a century, the night Crowley drops a bomb and saves a bag of books, Aziraphale decides to risk just one night to show Crowley how he truly feels.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 51
Kudos: 355





	Just, let me (show you how I feel)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6 of my 'Wicked Thing' verse. To understand the premise/context of this fic, please read the first part ['Wicked Games'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790). (I'd also suggest ['When in Rome'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605847) and ['Sweet Offerings'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803700), since they take place before this one chronologically, but it's not necessary.)
> 
> So, yeah. We now have a sixth part of this series. Oh boy. How did this happen, might you ask?
> 
> Me, posting 'Sweet Offerings' five days ago: I gotta ease up on the smut writing guhhh  
> My trash brain, literally the next morning: oK BUT WHAT IF -  
> Me: …fvk

Crowley is an ardent thing, which isn’t an undesirable trait in the infernal Horde and their inherent flair for the dramatic.

Crowley is an ardent thing and he is standing, exceedingly smug, amidst the charred ruins of his most dramatic display to date.

He is well aware that the strings he pulled were extravagant*, but the _look_ on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley sauntered** down the aisle had been completely worth it.

(* Dropping a bomb takes the cake, frankly. Crowley could’ve just put the humans to sleep with a snap of his fingers - Hell, _Aziraphale_ could have if he didn’t limit himself by Heaven’s stupid rules - and waltzed out of the church together. But why pull the string by an inch when you can have the whole damn mile? Aziraphale hasn’t taken his eyes off Crowley since, a destroyed church is always a plus for him in Hell’s bad books _and_ nobody bats an eyelash over a few dead Nazis.

** Crowley will listen to no other description of what he looked like walking on consecrated ground.)

In fact, the only thing better than that look is the expression Aziraphale is wearing right now, as Crowley hands over the heavy bag of books he salvaged from the wreckage.

‘Lift home?’ he offers, tipping his hat with a perfected air of nonchalance as he strides past Aziraphale.

In retrospect, Crowley suspects _that_ was the moment when he should have picked up on whatever _shifts_ in the Angel; between them.

As it is, he’d rather been too eager to show the Angel his new car, and ends up completely blindsided later in the bookshop.

In all honesty, Crowley doesn’t know what he expects when he parks the Bentley haphazardly in Aziraphale’s deserted street in Soho. It has been eighty years of radio silence since their spat in St James Park after all, and they haven’t gone that long without contact in millennia.

Since Rome, in fact.

Crowley doesn’t want to remember Rome right now. He has been fearing since 1862 that their fight had put an end to their Arrangement - both the one they struck in 1020 AD … and the one some 980 years before that in Rome.

But Aziraphale, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and pensive during the whole car ride, turns to Crowley. Not once has he let up on his white-knuckled grip on his bag.

‘Do you … I mean,’ Aziraphale exhales slowly. He hugs the books tighter to his chest. ‘Would you… like to come in?’

Crowley meets his wide gaze, surprised but mostly _relieved_. Their banter back at the church had made it seem obvious, but Aziraphale’s invitation, this solid _confirmation_ of their friendship, calms him like nothing else.

‘If you’d like a, a nightcap, that is,’ Aziraphale is saying, stammering a little. ‘Obviously, if - if you’d rather didn’t, I’d of course understand -’

‘I’d like to,’ Crowley interrupts.

‘Ah.’ Aziraphale ducks his head. ‘Excellent, then.’

Aziraphale doesn’t look at him as he leads Crowley to the bookshop. He fumbles with the key for a few seconds, seeming to have trouble slotting it into the keyhole. Crowley waits patiently, choosing not to comment; he can save all his jokes about _frivolous miracles_ or lack thereof for a decade or so, until they are both on even footing with their fight properly laid to rest.

To his surprise, Aziraphale doesn’t switch on any lights once he gets the door open and ushers Crowley inside. Not that either of them needs light to see, but the human habit is so ingrained that Crowley feels somewhat wary as he follows Aziraphale through the shadowed isles of bookshelves, to what he remembers from a few previous visits is the backroom.

When they are inside, Aziraphale shuts the door behind Crowley. There is a small _click_ and Crowley, with growing nerves, realises that the Angel has locked the door.

What in the heaven?

Before Crowley can confront him, Aziraphale flips on a light, a single lamp near his old but comfortable-looking sofa. He motions for Crowley to take a seat.

‘It’s hard to keep a steady stock of liquor what with the war, but I should have a few vintages. Why don’t you make yourself at home while I -?’ Aziraphale stops, looking stricken. ‘I … I mean… not at home, but -’

Crowley blinks at him, puzzled. Why is a simple turn of phrase sending the Angel into a tizzy?

As he observes Aziraphale, who has placed his heavy bag carefully on his worktable, it occurs to Crowley for the first time that the Angel seems _nervous_. He thinks back to the car ride, how silent Aziraphale had been and his death grip on his precious books.

The way he’d looked at Crowley in the ruins of the church.

Aziraphale has been acting odd since that explosion.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley begins, uncertainly. The Angel fairly jumps at his voice and Crowley winces, feeling a twinge of hurt. ‘Would you … rather I left? I understand if -’

‘No!’ Aziraphale cries, and Crowley blinks again at the sheer force of emotion in his voice. ‘No, I mean -I didn’t mean … I,’ Aziraphale meets his gaze then, and his blue eyes hold a myriad of emotions Crowley can’t read.

‘I … I want you to stay.’

‘Oh.’ Crowley’s heart jumps a little. ‘All right.’

The Angel wrings his hands together, and it’s such a familiar action, a tic almost, that Crowley wonders if Aziraphale really did invite him in just for a drink.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches up to remove his sunglasses.

Aziraphale freezes, all his movements coming to a standstill.

After a century, it feels odd to reveal his eyes. It has been so bloody long. The last time Crowley took off his glasses in front of Aziraphale had been some years before their dreadful meeting at St James, when Crowley had dropped by this very bookshop to give Aziraphale a rare tome he had ‘come across’ while on a mission.

That meeting had ended here in the backroom too. Crowley had removed a lot more than his glasses then.

Crowley feels his face grow warm at the memory. Aziraphale is staring at him, at his demonic eyes. He wonders what the Angel is thinking, how he feels about seeing Crowley - truly seeing him - again.

And then his blue eyes dip to rest on Crowley’s mouth. Just for a second.

A second is enough.

_Ah._

There is a wrenching sensation in his gut. Crowley swallows. He doesn’t know what he feels in that moment. Attraction? But he is always attracted to Aziraphale. Relief? He had been worried that they’d never come back together, so perhaps.

Disappointment? But what’s there to be disappointed about?*

(* It’s a rhetorical question to which Crowley knows the answer all too well. But after thousands of years of resigning himself to the fact that their relationship can never go beyond sex, it’s less painful to keep that answer buried.)

Well, what he feels is moot. There is only one path to be taken here, that much is clear.

Crowley places his sunglasses on the side table near the sofa. His hat joins it a moment later.

With slow, deliberate steps, Crowley advances on Aziraphale. The Angel doesn’t move a muscle, except for the widening of his eyes as Crowley draws near.

‘What do you want, angel?’ Crowley asks in a low voice and Aziraphale’s breath hitches.

The question is jarring, uncomfortably out of place in the heavy silence of the room. He has asked Aziraphale that countless times before, but not like this; not before they’d done anything that could remotely count as a prelude to fucking.

But that’s what Aziraphale wants, isn’t it.

Even after a near-century of not speaking, when they finally make up, this is what Aziraphale wants from him.

Well, that’s … fine. Crowley can live with that. It’s better than nothing, and he has spent more of his existence than he wants to admit giving Aziraphale everything he damn well pleases. If Aziraphale wants to fuck now that they’re back on speaking terms, Crowley will give him that too.

It’s fine.

Aziraphale takes a step back, hitting the bookshelf behind him when Crowley enters his space. Crowley immediately stops, watching the Angel with a mix of confusion and concern. Aziraphale hasn’t looked away; his blue eyes are wide and pupils dilated as he gazes at Crowley with a wrung-out expression that the latter can only read as _distressed_ and _longing_.

Aziraphale parts his lips as if to speak. His eyes rove over Crowley’s face, lingering on his mouth again before coming back to hold his gaze. Aziraphale closes his mouth, swallowing.

‘Hey,’ Crowley says slowly, ‘is - is there … something you want to say?’

The Angel squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them, Crowley realises with a jolt that there are tears in his eyes. Not enough to spill, but unmistakable.

It’s as if the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. He has never seen Aziraphale cry before.

He never wants to see it, least of all be the reason for it.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley whispers. ‘What … what’s wrong, angel?’

Aziraphale shakes his head, closing his eyes again. His hands are clasped in front him, his back pressed against the bookshelf behind him.

‘Is there … do you, do you want to tell me about it?’ Crowley tries again, desperate to wipe that look off the Angel’s face.

Aziraphale’s eyes are over-bright when he looks at Crowley again. ‘Best not,’ he whispers.

An ugly weight settles in his gut and Crowley starts to turn away. But then Aziraphale speaks again,

‘I wish … I wish I could. B-but …’ a shuddering breath, ‘w-we … we _can’t_ …’

There it is. Crowley’s lips twist in a bitter smile. In many ways, he is used to that familiar protest after all these years, but right now, with Aziraphale vulnerable and raw in a way he has never bared himself to Crowley before, the rejection cuts deeper than it used to.

‘I’ll just go, shall I?’ he mutters. ‘Give you space…’

‘No, I …’ Aziraphale protests again and Crowley stares at him, his concern warring with frustration. ‘Please, Crowley, I … I don’t want you to leave.’

‘Then what do you want? We’re obviously not about to get sloshed. And you don’t want to talk. Then -’

‘I can’t say it, but,’ Aziraphale blurts, breathing hard, ‘maybe … I could show you.’

When Crowley stares in surprise, Aziraphale finally steps towards him. ‘Please don’t - don’t ask me to say it. I can’t, it’s too … but,’ for the first time that night, Aziraphale touches him, placing a tentative hand on Crowley’s cheek, ‘I could show you. Just … just for tonight.’

Crowley looks down at him, feeling like he is utterly lost in the dark. The warmth of Aziraphale’s fingers on his face is scorching. This caress is new too, a forbidden touch outside the boundaries of their little wicked game.

‘All right,’ he murmurs. He leans into Aziraphale’s palm, just a slight press. ‘I won’t ask you to say it - whatever it is. Show me then.’

Aziraphale breathes in, licking his lips slowly. Then he is tilting his face up to press those lips to Crowley’s, in a kiss so tender that Crowley’s heart almost gives out.

Many of their clandestine meetings in the past had started with a kiss. But Crowley, for the life of him, cannot remember any of them being like this one, so soft and chaste and heartrendingly intimate. It feels like a secret, whispered in his ear.

It feels like a confession.

Aziraphale is breathing shakily when he draws away, his eyes closed for a long moment as if to savour the taste of that kiss before he meets Crowley’s gaze.

Crowley can only look back helplessly, at a loss for words. His lips are tingling and he wants nothing more than to kiss Aziraphale again.

As if he could read his mind, Aziraphale leans up once more, and this time their mouths come together more ardently, a touch of desperation in the heated slide of their lips. The Angel wraps his arms around Crowley’s neck, pressing flush against his body and melting into Crowley’s arms that come around him in response. He parts his lips readily to welcome Crowley’s warm tongue, meeting it with his own. When Crowley allows Aziraphale to plunder his mouth only to catch the Angel’s tongue lightly between his teeth, sucking sensually, Aziraphale makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that shoots directly to Crowley’s groin.

Crowley loses all sense of time as they stand there, in the middle of Aziraphale’s backroom, just kissing and holding each other. Thousands of times they have met before in secret, but they have not kissed like this.

He wouldn’t mind if that were all he did for the rest of his days.

When Aziraphale finally draws back - Crowley will never be the one to break away if he can help it - the Angel looks overwhelmed, breath stuttering and eyes closed. His lips are kiss-bitten and red, gleaming with the attentions from Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley thinks Aziraphale has never looked so beautiful as he does in that moment.

Crowley kisses Aziraphale again because those lips are absolutely demanding to be taken; then because the Angel is shaking and seems to need a moment, he moves on to mouthing along Aziraphale’s jaw, teasing his earlobe and sucking open-mouthed kisses down the inviting column of his neck.

Aziraphale clings to him, shuddering, before he gently pulls away again. Crowley gives an unsatisfied grunt at being interrupted halfway through leaving a love-bite, just under his collar.*

(* If Crowley could have his way, he would mark up Aziraphale for all to see. But Aziraphale is not his to claim, a bitter pill he has to swallow every time he is allowed to touch the Angel.)

‘You’re not being fair,’ Aziraphale is saying, his voice breathy. ‘I … I’m meant to be showing _you_.’

‘And what, that means I can’t reciprocate?’ Crowley says gruffly, tightening his arms aroundAziraphale’s waist.

‘No, of course, I - that’s not what I meant.’ Biting his lip, Aziraphale gently pushes on Crowley’s chest. ‘Please, just … just, let me.’

Relinquishing his hold, Crowley lets Aziraphale guide him back towards the sofa. Another gentle push on his chest and Crowley flops down, right in the middle. But before he can say another word, his voice dies in his throat when Aziraphale pushes his legs apart, kneeling before him.

For a second, Aziraphale just peers up at him, smoothing his palms up Crowley’s thighs, over his fitted trousers. Then he reaches up to loosen his scarlet tie, undoes the buttons of Crowley’s double-breasted jacket, followed by his shirt, and then finally, his trousers.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley says, sounding choked. He is as shaken by Aziraphale’s choice to undress him the human way - they don’t do it during their secret meetings, they just don’t - as the Angel kneeling before him.

He’s had Aziraphale between his legs before, but Go - Sata - _Someone_ , it has never been like this.

‘Would you take off your jacket, please?’ Aziraphale says softly, even as he tugs at Crowley’s zipper.

‘How - how far a state of undress are we talking about?’ Crowley rasps. ‘Overall?’

Aziraphale’s cheeks colour. ‘By - by the end? Fully nude, if - if you’re amenable.’

‘Ngk.’

Crowley snaps his fingers, and immediately his suit, as well as Aziraphale’s clothes, vanish off their bodies, appearing in a nicely folded* heap on the Angel’s worktable.

(* Over the centuries, he’d sent them carelessly flying across whatever room they ended up fucking in enough times to know how Aziraphale feels about having his clothes disrespected so.)

Aziraphale starts, taking a sharp intake of breath at their abrupt nakedness. He looks up in shock and there is no disguising the disappointment on his face.

‘W-well, that’s … one way to do it, I suppose.’

‘It’s how we _always_ do it,’ Crowley reminds him.

Aziraphale bites his lip. ‘Perhaps. But I … I’m trying to show you, my dear.’

Crowley trembles, at Aziraphale’s words and the implication that he had wanted to undress him, maybe for both of them to undress each other, slowly, lovingly - the way they _don’t_ do during their wicked games.

‘Please, Crowley, _let me_ ,’ Aziraphale repeats, his voice just above a whisper. He leans up to brush their lips together again, his hands splayed on Crowley’s bare thighs.

And then he draws back to, without further warning, devote his mouth to Crowley’s half-erect cock.

Crowley shudders at the first touch of Aziraphale’s lips to his prick. The Angel gently kisses the head, flicking his tongue at the slit, before closing his mouth around it. Aziraphale wraps one hand around the base of his cock, the other coming up to cup his balls, and then, looking directly up at Crowley under his lashes, begins to suck.

Crowley blesses loudly, fisting his hands on the sofa. The sight of Aziraphale watching him with those eyes, as he moves his kiss-swollen lips up and down his prick, feels enough to discorporate him.

Aziraphale has ample experience in bringing Crowley off with his mouth, but tonight, he seems extra attentive, taking his sweet time in a manner often absent during their hurried trysts. He alternates sucking with lavish licks of his tongue, dragging it over and around the head of Crowley’s cock.

He pulls off for a minute to run his lips along Crowley’s hard length. Meeting Crowley’s dazed eyes again, Aziraphale leaves open-mouthed kisses in his wake, slicking up his cock with his wet tongue before taking Crowley in his mouth again. The Demon groans loudly, winding his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale is not quiet, either. He never is in bed, whether he has Crowley’s cock in his mouth or arse or cunt. Muffled sounds of pleasure drop from his lips as Aziraphale swirls his tongue and swallows around him. He keeps up a steady pace, taking Crowley deeper and deeper until Crowley can feel him relaxing his throat around his prick.

’A-angel,’ Crowley gasps, tugging at Aziraphale’s curls. ‘Please, I … angel, I’m close!’

In response, Aziraphale hums and hollows his cheeks, sucking Crowley down as much as he can take. Crowley comes down his throat with a cry, Aziraphale’s nose buried in his pubic hair.

Crowley’s entire body shakes with the force of his climax, Aziraphale still sucking, more gently now, on his prick. He pulls off only when Crowley sags back into the sofa, and looks up at the Demon almost shyly, licking his lips clean of Crowley’s spend.

Breathing hard, Crowley tries to wrap his mind around Aziraphale being on his knees in front of him; Aziraphale practically servicing him, giving all of himself to Crowley’s pleasure and dragging one of the best orgasms* Crowley has ever had out of him.

(* Which is saying something since Crowley has never had a bad orgasm with Aziraphale in the equation.)

‘Aziraphale … that wasss…’ Crowley pants.

‘Was it good?’ Aziraphale whispers, licking his lips again. He presses a careful kiss to the head of Crowley’s cock.

Crowley’s heart stutters. The Angel who has been welcoming Crowley into his bed for nearly two thousand years, looks inexplicably self-conscious as he kneels there, between Crowley’s legs. There is something incredibly exposed in the way Aziraphale is gazing at him, like he is willing to do anything to please Crowley.*

(* Crowley should know. That’s how he is around Aziraphale.)

With a sound akin to a growl, Crowley grabs Aziraphale by his arms and pulls him up, to lie almost completely on top of him, Aziraphale’s warm weight pressing him into the sofa’s backrest. Crowley kisses him fiercely, wrapping his arms tightly around his soft willing body. Aziraphale makes a pleased sound, tremors dancing down his spine as Crowley licks his own taste out of the Angel’s mouth.

‘You’re always fantastic at sucking my cock,’ Crowley hisses against his lips, paying no mind to how Aziraphale reddens at his crude choice of words, ‘but damn, angel, just now that was - that was …’

‘I’m glad,’ Aziraphale murmurs, slanting their lips together again. ‘As I said, I want to show you. And … I’d like to show you more.’ He pauses. ‘My dear.’

Crowley looks up at him, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

If he is being honest, truly honest with himself, he thinks he already has an inkling as to what Aziraphale is showing him. The kiss they shared earlier - that fragile, staggering kiss that felt like it could shake the stars out of the heavens - pressed to his lips like a precious gift; and Aziraphale’s mouth around him just now, his act less a sexual favour and more of a …more of what that kiss was.

A yielding. A confession.

There is the strangest feeling, like his physical corporation is too small to contain the kaleidoscope of emotions he feels within. Aziraphale is showing him, _telling_ him, something Crowley had hardly dared to entertain for centuries; a fantasy borne of his most desperate desires - and the sheer _magnitude_ of it would be fucking _paralysing_ if Crowley were to analyse it right now.

He swallows, trying to push it all down. Right now, he has Aziraphale in his arms, after a whole doggone, miserable century. Right now, all Crowley wants is to just be with him, here in this moment.

So he replies, his voice low and calm, as if he is not on the brink of falling apart inside, ‘Sounds good, angel, but first, I want to see to you.’

Aziraphale fairly blushes. ’T-that - that’s not necessary. After all, tonight I’m the one who -’

‘I’ll let you show me whatever you want to,’ Crowley tells him. ‘I want to see it, all of it. But,’ he adds as Aziraphale opens his mouth, ‘this is a two-way street, angel. Always has been.’ He strokes a hand down Aziraphale’s side, coming to massage the soft flesh of his hip. ‘And that’s not about to change.’

For a moment, Aziraphale says nothing, his blue eyes wide. Crowley thinks that he can see the shine of tears again.

Then the Angel is throwing his arms around his neck again, kissing Crowley deeply. Tightening his embrace, Crowley moves to lay Aziraphale down on the sofa* and he goes easily, lying back and spreading his legs to make room for Crowley between them.

(* The sofa is very surprised to find itself roomier than before, abruptly large enough to accommodate two man-shaped beings not of this world.)

Crowley is tempted to spend a good hour just kissing Aziraphale. He could spend hours relearning the taste of his sweet mouth, explore the curve of his neck, the dip of his clavicle; tease his sensitive nipples and map the swell of his stomach, until the Angel is on the very brink, begging for release … but he doesn’t dare.

It would feel too much like love-making, and tonight they are already at a tenuous point, breaching previously-forbidden doors of their casual relationship. Crowley doesn’t know how far he is allowed to come in, before he completely oversteps.

Instead, he compensates with a few hungry kisses to Aziraphale’s neck before going up on his knees to study the Angel’s effort and give him a good seeing-to in return.

There is nothing there.

Surprised, Crowley looks up from the stretch of skin, covered in downy blond hair, between Aziraphale’s legs.

‘Uh, Aziraphale? Gonna give me something to work with here?’

Aziraphale swallows, and that look of uncertainty from before returns to his eyes. ‘I, I did, erm … I was wearing something. Until just now. But,’ he bites his lip, ‘I want - I want to wear … what do you prefer to, to work with?’

Crowley stares down at him, unable to fight off his look of disbelief. ‘You know by now that I don’t have a preference.’*

(* _I just want you_ , is left unsaid. The words scream and rage within him, and every time it becomes harder to keep them bottled in. Crowley grits his teeth.)

‘Are you sure?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Crowley says. Then, a thought striking him, ‘No, actually, I do want something.’

‘Yes?’

‘You said you were wearing genitals, until just now. That was the effort you preferred for tonight, wasn’t it? I want you to wear that, what _you_ want.’

Aziraphale licks his lips again, his face flushed. Crowley bites back the urge to kiss him senseless.

‘All right,’ the Angel whispers.

Crowley blinks and next moment, Aziraphale’s pubic region has transformed. The blond curls now cover a generous mound, leading down to the pink, plump lips of a familiar cunt.

Crowley smiles. ‘This is what you were hiding from me?’

‘Not hiding,’ Aziraphale protests. ‘I just … I didn’t know if this is what you’d want right now.’

‘What does it matter what _I_ want you to wear?’ Crowley presses.

The Angel exhales. ‘Because I want to give you all of m - I’m trying to _show_ you…’ he trails off, his face red.

_Oh_.

And in that moment, all the thoughts Crowley has been keeping out, the realisation waiting to unfold, hits him like a bolt of lightning. What Aziraphale is trying to tell him is clear as day, and Crowley suddenly can’t fucking breathe.

Go - Sat - _Someone_. Holy shit.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley croaks.

His heart is going haywire in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears, because _shit,_ Aziraphale is - Aziraphale is _giving_ himself to Crowley. Giving all of himself, completely and wholly, in the only way he can, for just one night - to show Crowley that he … that he …

Aziraphale looks up at him with stricken eyes, comprehension dawning in his eyes _._

‘Oh Crowley,’ he begins, but the Demon shakes his head wildly.

‘No, don’t say anything. You’re right. Don’t say it.’

He has to close his eyes for a few seconds, as if that can keep the truth from crushing him under its sheer, magnificent weight.

_You love me._

It’s not just him, alone in this feeling after all these thousands of years. It’s not just Crowley, a hopeless Demon clutching a mess of hopeless feelings to his wretched heart.

_You’re in love with me too._

Aziraphale loves him, _loves_ him, like Crowley loves Aziraphale. They’re not just friends and this isn’t just a shag, and Aziraphale is trying to tell him, show him without words, with his tears and his mouth and his body…

Crowley releases a shaky breath, feeling like his limbs are going to give out. He doesn’t know what it was about tonight that shook the Angel so, making him want to tell Crowley this. But after centuries upon centuries of Crowley fantasising, agonising, _suspecting_ , that Aziraphale’s regard for him is not so different from his own…

_Oh God._ If this knowledge is the one blessing* She will bestow upon him after his Fall - even if they must ultimately remain parted, never able to love properly - then by Hell he is going to hold on to it with everything he has.

(* And it must be a blessing because, fucking heaven, it _burns_.)

Aziraphale is saying his name again, but Crowley leans down and silences him with a long, aching kiss.

He meets Aziraphale’s eyes briefly. ‘Don’t say it, angel,’ he repeats, his voice but a breath. ‘Don’t. Just, _let me_.’

And he slithers down to settle between Aziraphale’s legs.

Aziraphale fairly sobs into his palm as Crowley lowers his mouth to his cunt. He takes his time, just as the Angel had done, devoting himself completely to the task and blocking out everything else, including his own thoughts.

Ignoring the roaring in his ears through sheer force of will, he leaves biting kisses on Aziraphale’s inner thighs, steadily making his way in until, at last, he is pressing his mouth to Aziraphale’s plump lips. Crowley slowly licks up a stripe and then down, sucking the soft folds into his mouth while Aziraphale whimpers, his thighs quivering. Wrapping one arm around Aziraphale’s right thigh to hold his shaking hips in place, Crowley keeps at it until Aziraphale is wet and glistening with his spit. It is only then that he touches the Angel’s labia with his free hand, parting his folds with two fingers.

Above him, Aziraphale gasps when Crowley spreads him open, pushing back the hood to reveal his swelling clit. His tight opening is already slick with his juices, dripping out over his folds.

Crowley groans at the sight and dips in a finger, just barely, to coat its tip in the Angel’s slick which he spreads slowly over Aziraphale’s inner walls. Aziraphale moans loudly, writhing a little, and Crowley tightens his grip on his thigh as he dips in a second finger. He smears the Angel’s juices along his inner walls and folds, and over his hood, before finally circling a slick finger on his clit.

Aziraphale’s hips jump, and Crowley pins him down with both arms before leaning down to lick a hard stripe directly over his core. The Angel makes a broken sound, crying out as Crowley dips his long tongue into his cunt, thrusting in as deep as he can go to tease his slick walls, before licking up to assault his clit in earnest.

He has the Angel almost screaming by the time he wraps his lips around his clit, teasing the swollen nub mercilessly with his tongue before proceeding to suck on Aziraphale’s clit as fervently as the Angel had worked his cock. Aziraphale’s hand is on his head, mussing up his slicked auburn hair as he tugs almost painfully, and Crowley revels in the sting as he moves to slip a finger, then two, into the Angel’s cunt. He pumps them in, carefully at first, and then increasingly faster until he is fucking Aziraphale hard.

Aziraphale comes with a shrill scream that he tries to muffle into his hand, his body shaking while his thighs squeeze around Crowley’s head. Crowley doesn’t let up on either his clit or fingering his cunt until the Angel has collapsed, spent, on the sofa.

Crowley finally pulls off, gently slipping his fingers free from Aziraphale’s still throbbing cunt. He moves to lie down beside the Angel, but then Aziraphale is pulling him in, almost desperately, meeting his lips in a messy, passionate kiss.

They lie together, wrapped around each other and legs tangled, kissing for Crowley doesn’t know how long.

When they break apart, Aziraphale is still trembling, whether from aftershocks or the unspoken truth between them, Crowley doesn’t know.

The truth. _You love me. Holy shit._ Shivers run down Crowley’s back and he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

Aziraphale is watching him. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks, voice soft and gentle.

Crowley exhales, pushing back his ruffled hair with a shaky hand. ‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’

The Angel doesn’t look away, his eyes utterly unguarded and for once, hiding none of his feelings.Crowley can see them now, read them; all of them, including that one emotion Aziraphale will never name out loud. The one he is freely revealing, just for tonight. Just tonight.

It makes Crowley’s heart tremble in joy and ache with loss.

He tries to smile. ’I … I’m glad you showed me. And, angel … Me too. Always.’

Aziraphale’s lips twitch. It’s not quite a smile, but his eyes, warm and full of affection, are _knowing_.

Of course, he knows. For all their wicked games, Crowley has always performed poorly at hiding his true regard, hasn’t he.

Crowley clears his throat, trying to calm his heart, still galloping like a stallion chasing the wind.

’Is - is there a particular reason for this?’ he asks, gesturing at Aziraphale’s cunt with a brush of his fingers over his mound.

He asks the question more as a deviation of topic than actual curiosity. Crowley has never minded what Aziraphale chooses to manifest, always going to town on whatever the Angel sports between his legs with abundant enthusiasm.

But Aziraphale blushes unexpectedly at his question, shivering a little under his touch. ‘I … I remembered Rome,’ he whispers.

Crowley gapes at him. ‘Angel…’

But then Aziraphale is turning to him, his face abruptly serious. ‘But Crowley, you know that this … this can’t - we can’t …’

_We can’t._

Crowley’s chest tightens painfully. He’d known it was coming, had been aware of their circumstances even from the moment he realised what Aziraphale was trying to tell him.

But it still hurts like hell as he says, ‘Yeah. I know.’

‘I-It’s too dangerous, my dear. If they ever -’

‘I get it, angel.’

For a small eternity, Aziraphale looks as heartsick as Crowley feels.

Then he takes a deep breath, and says, haltingly, ’But like I said earlier, um … just for tonight, I can - I _want_ to show you.’

Crowley smiles at him, genuinely this time. ‘You have.’

‘The night is yet young.’

Crowley’s eyes widen. ‘Oh. _Oh._ You mean - oh. Um. Yeah. All right.’

‘Only - only if you want to, of course! I wouldn’t presume -’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley says softly, ‘I always want to.’

Aziraphale’s expression positively melts. He reaches to pull Crowley close, kissing him with wild abandon and clutching at him until Crowley, following Aziraphale’s impatient cues, rolls on top of him, pressing him down into the sofa.

He gazes down at the Angel beneath him, at his lovely blue eyes and flushed cheeks, and the open, unadulterated affection being offered to Crowley, freely.

_Just for tonight_.

He leans down to press a kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s lips. ‘What do you want, angel?’ He breathes.

Aziraphale meets his gaze heatedly. ‘You,’ he whispers, like an intimate secret, against Crowley’s lips. ‘I want you to take me. And I want it to last.’

Crowley shivers. ‘For how long?’

‘As long as we have.’

And Crowley’s heart shatters. Aziraphale’s request sounds too much like, _make love to me_.*

(* It sounds too much like an _I love you_.)

They don’t leave the sofa until the first light of morning filters through the window blinds. As the night scatters, chased into hiding by the breaking dawn, Crowley captures Aziraphale’s lips in one last kiss as they both come shaking apart again.

There won’t be a repeat of this night, he knows. Their time is up.

The two of them are silent as Crowley helps Aziraphale to his feet. He gazes upon him for an endless second, taking in Aziraphale’s reddened lips and the way his eyes twinkle in the dim light.

With a thought, Crowley dresses them.*

(* He leaves the mess between Aziraphale’s legs, taking solace in the knowledge that the Angel will feel that delicious ache for days.)

When he turns to leave, Aziraphale surprises him by walking him to the door.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale says quietly, stopping on the threshold. ‘Thank you. For … for the books.’

Crowley blinks, slowly. ‘Anytime, angel.’

He buries the urge to kiss Aziraphale again, right here in his doorway, in plain sight of all the world to see*. Instead, he tips his hat and heads to his Bentley. He doesn’t look back.

(* Because Crowley is an ardent thing, and for a reckless second, he doesn’t care if all of Heaven and Hell were to come down on them if he can have but one more real moment with Aziraphale. But a moment doesn’t outweigh the prospect of an eternity without Aziraphale, and Crowley forces himself to walk away.

One night is all he gets, but it’s still one night more than he’d had before. He can face the rest of eternity with the memory of this one, real night with Aziraphale. It’s enough**.

** It has to be.)

**Author's Note:**

> I both love and hate this part. It was ... challenging, to say the least, to bring across Aziraphale's feelings only through Crowley's eyes without Azi actually expressing anything in words. I'm worried that I bungled it all up and that I wasn't able to get the point across clearly :/
> 
> Jeez, I have no idea if I'mma ever stop writing more for this series at this point. But I do have another GO WIP that needs completing... /sigh/
> 
> If you've made it this far into the Wicked Thing verse, I can't thank you enough for sticking around and I hope you guys are having a good time! Please drop a comment and let me know your thoughts, they make my day! :)
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


End file.
